


watch me drive the zamboni

by Veri4la



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically if Yuuri went to train in Russia not Detroit, Coach Yakov just wants some coffee, Fluff, M/M, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, VictUuri, Viktor is Oblivious, Viktor thinks Yuuri is a Zamboni driver, Yuuri in Russia, Zamboni Guy AU, kind of crack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-12
Updated: 2017-08-11
Packaged: 2018-12-14 07:24:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11778249
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Veri4la/pseuds/Veri4la
Summary: Zamboni guy AU (kind of)Viktor just wanted to know who the Zamboni guy was.(Viktor is 19, and Yuuri is 15 and still skating in the Juniors)In which Viktor is an idiot and thinks the new Japanese boy at the rink is the replacement Zamboni Driver.*the zamboni is the truck/car/machine thing that you drive on the ice to make the ice clean and sparkly again





	watch me drive the zamboni

**Author's Note:**

> because Victuuri kills me and Yuuri is like my soul animal and also the Zamboni guy at my ice rink was really hot just saying 
> 
> *In this story, instead of Yuuri going to Michigan with Celestino, Yuuri is invited to work with Coach Yakov in Russia and takes him up on that offer, resulting in Yuuri moving to Russia to live alone and train for figure skating at age 15.

_Chriiiiis,_ Viktor typed numbly into his phone. _it hinki hav s cush zamrano oydadfasdfscddasf_

"What?" Chris asked as he called him on the phone."I couldn't understand your text at all," he snorted. 

"IhaveacrushontheZamboniGuy!" Viktor rushed out between frantic breaths. "HELP!!!" 

The new Zamboni guy was always there. At the rink.

The old Zamboni guy had always been there too. He had been this old skinny Russian man with a bald head and sharp eyes, and when he drove the Zamboni it always took him irritatingly long because he kept missing strips. Everyone had joked that he must be high on drugs. Well, in retrospect, he probably had been, considering the story leaked in the newspaper a couple days back.

It was not that Viktor was unused to ice arena employees. After all, running an ice rink wasn’t easy. It was not only figure skaters that lived at the rink, but the employees themselves that lived there too-- _especially_ the Zamboni guy.

 The Zamboni guy had to be there from the earliest of mornings to the latest of nights, to clear the ice, and sometimes to do other things for other employees, like fix the advertisements around the rink, or the flags that were hung up on the ceiling, or other menial things.

He was like, the unofficial savior of all figure skaters. And, well, other people that used the rink like (ugh) hockey players and (urgh) public skaters and (yesyes)ice dancers, all relied on poor Mr. Zamboni guy to clear the ice perfectly and reliably, every single day.

But now, Viktor noticed, there was a new guy at the rink.

 

A new Zamboni guy.

_you havenoideaCHRISSSS . He. is. so_... Viktor held his phone to his chest as he lay on his bed, and sighed. 

_you are so gone,_ Chris typed back. _wut have you done with my love-don't-exist-i'm-an-ice-queen-Elsa's-mai-name-kiss-my-ass-Vitya?_

_i **am** elsa you dirtbag, _ Viktor typed back angrily. _you know i never thought i'd feel this way, but now the fears that once controlled me--_

Chris's reply stopped him. _stop you from introducing yourself?_

"CHRIS!" Viktor screamed out loud. Makkachin ran into the room, and comforted Viktor with licks to his face. "Good girl," he said to Makkachin. "Bad boy," he growled to Chris even though there was no way the guy could hear him.  _i hate you_ he typed.  _you are the bad step mother._

_well_ ,Chris typed back, maybe _you outta. ya know. if you don't even know the guy's name and you aren't gonna talk to him, maybe you outta, ya know, let it **go**_

"NO!!" Viktor practically screamed into the phone. _no,_ he typed back. He jumped on top of his bed and sang into his phone's speak-to-type feature. _"Here i staaand and here i stay waiting for bae---"_ He almost started crying, and flopped back onto the bed.

He froze, and was so proud of his lyrics that he spontaneously made a post on Instagram with himself winking, his Elsa poster in the background, and his lyrics in the description as a witty quote.  _my lyrics are so wonderful #inspired #mynewinspiration #iwasFROZENandheMELTSMYSOUL_

_i saw that post_  came a ding on his phone.

"Ugh, you again." Viktor ate a potato chip and chewed it loudly.

_ya, you are waiting for bae,_ _in your ice tower all alone, Vitya,_ Chris typed back.

"Let it go, let it gooo," Viktor sang around his room. Then he froze. 

_I CANT LET IT GO CHRIS HELP,_ Viktor typed back. He stuffed more potato chips in his mouth, until some fell out of his mouth and onto his bed and Makkachin licked the salt off them. _THE COLD ALWAYS BOTHERED ME ANYWAY._ With that, he turned his phone off and buried his head dramatically in Makkachin's fur. 

. . . 

You see, from the moment Viktor’s eyes had landed on him it was over.

For the new Zamboni guy, Viktor felt an intrigue unlike all other Viktor-esque intrigues.

The new Zamboni guy was all softness in pale cheeks, elegance in movement--and yet horrific hesitance, jolting stutters and sudden stumbles in his steps. He was soft brown innocent puppy eyes, and then, when he was lost in thought, dark lashes and straight-face steeled in the deepest concentration Viktor had ever seen. When he sat down, and pulled out papers--perhaps his homework?-- he put in his ear plugs and the determination on his face was as fierce as if the world could be ending, and he wouldn’t even blink.

Beautiful contradictions, Viktor thought to himself, over and over, every day.

But, as fate had it, Viktor and Zamboni guy were not meant to meet, or so Viktor felt. Viktor was always busy on the ice, and whenever he had time to talk to the boy, the boy disappeared. This soured Viktor’s mood.

Thus, he decided, if fate would not devise him a special meeting with this very special young man, then Viktor would devise one himself.

"Chris," Viktor said as he skype-called his flirtatious friend. "We need. a PLAN." 

Chris smirked, and leaned back in the grainy camera. "Alright," he said. "Let's get this rolling." 

(It did not occur to Viktor that Chris might feed him a horrible plan in order to see Viktor fail and laugh at him. If it had occurred to him, he might not have asked Chris for help. Or. Well. He probably would have anyway.)

About a week after he first glanced the new Zamboni guy, Viktor decided,it was time. 

He watched the Zamboni guy--who was really a skinny boy, not really a man yet-- and had inched closer every day.  Zamboni guy always sat the corner table in the lobby, with his big black bag and books.

Lo-and-behold, today just as every day, at 11 am when only the Learn-to-Skate kids were on the ice, and all the Seniors were warming up in the lobby and the most of the Juniors weren’t yet at the rink, there was the new boy, all fluffy black hair, funny hat, and soft pale cheeks, dumping his black bag on the table. Then, he went to order a tea from the concession stand.

Today is the day, Viktor thought to himself. Every day he had been inching closer, and today, was the day that Viktor would be close enough to covertly execute his very very top-secret-cover-NOTICE-ME-NAUU-plan-of-Better-than-doom.

_here he comes!!!!_ Viktor typed on his Instagram to his fellow-competitor-rival-friend Chris.

_Wth u creepy fanboy omg,_ typed Chris back, but Viktor’s heart was beating too fast to care. Here he was coming, the new cute amazing Zamboni boy with his tea steaming up his glasses. The boy didn’t even seem to notice Viktor, who was casually pretending to do his stretches.

The boy sat down in the chair, and pulled out his phone.

“Now!” whispered Viktor to himself and dove into a middle split and threw himself at the wall.

Except, when he was all settled against the wall in a 180 degree center split, he still was about an inch away from the boy, and the boy didn’t even look up from his phone.

_what do I do,_  Viktor typed on his phone to Chris. He sent a picture of himself and his best pouty face.

_Get closer, duh,_ typed back Chris.

Viktor inhaled deeply, braced himself. His cheek was pressed against the cold wall as he was in a perfect middle split pancaked against the wall. He lifted himself up just slightly with his arms, and wiggled like an inch-worm by bending and stretching his knees, until he was close enough.

_I can do this,_ he typed to chris. _Im gonna. Do. it!!!!_ Without waiting for an answer, Viktor stopped breathing, flexed his foot, and then pointed it.

His toe just poked the boy’s swishy black pants, and scraped the boy’s calf.

It was a very soft but toned calf. Viktor almost died.

This was the plan: To inch closer every day in the middle split, until he could feign “accidentally” touching the boy’s leg with his foot when he did his middle split. Viktor would say “oh I am so sorry!” and the boy would say “wow how flexible you are, my dear lovely viktor idol of my life soul of my being, reason for my existence let’s go eat some pirozhki together my love” and Viktor would say “aishiteru desu desu desu watashi no hatsukoi kawaii desu desu” and they would embrace and Makkachin would appear out of nowhere and join the embrace.

I am very smooth, thought Viktor to himself. Except the boy was so caught up in whatever he was doing on his phone that he didn’t appear to notice. In fact, the only reaction Viktor got, was the boy shifting his leg away, and leaning down to scratch it.

It looked like he was scrolling through Instagram or something.

Well, Viktor huffed, feeling very annoyed, that wouldn’t do.

Viktor stood up, walked across the narrow hallway. The rest of the room was large but the corner led into the hallway, and this new Zamboni guy always picked the last table in the room, where there was a clear view of the ice rinks below them from the glass, but also slightly darker lighting as it led into the hallway.

So Viktor placed his hands on the wall opposite the wall the boy’s table was pushed against. Still, the boy did not notice. So Viktor huffed, and bent over, 90 degrees, until his butt was sticking out and in perfect view of the boy.

Nothing happened. He huffed again, and did that warm up that he knew he looked absolutely stunning doing, which was the battement kick derrier.

Boop.

His longer-than-he-thought-oops-growth-spurt leg-with-pointed-foot-(add a couple inches there) knocked over something.

Oh no, Viktor thought belatedly, dropped his leg, clutched his face, and turned around.

“ItTA!” the boy yelped.

Viktor practically melted. It was...it was Japanese! Ever since Viktor had watched his first anime when he was five years old--Sailor moon, dubbed in Russian-- he had been obsessed, and when he had watched the Japanese version on the internet when he was older the sound of the language filled him with a softness and joy that he couldn’t quite explain. Viktor had suspected the boy was Japanese, after spying on some of his homework which looked to be written in Japanese—but to hear it from the boy’s soft, wonderful voice--

Viktor realized he was standing there in a daze, like a very guilty person who had just kicked a hot cup out of a stranger’s hand, and jumped into action.

“I am so sorry!” Viktor stuttered out in Russian. Then he realized the boy might not speak Russian, when the boy looked at him panicked and like Viktor had five heads sticking out of his shoulders.

There was a long silence.

“Eh?!” the boy practically shrieked. He looked down, and his face exploded. Literally. It was like a bomb went off inside of his neck; blood rushed to his cheeks colored his forehead and his eyes popped, pupils shrunk. “V-v-v-...” he gulped. “N..n...n..”

“This must hurt,” Viktor practically cried, in English this time. He felt like crying now. He had spilled hot tea all over the cute Japanese adorable Zamboni wonder boy and now the poor boy was practically radiating fear. Viktor wondered if the Russian accent when he spoke in English was as scary as people said Russian accents were.

Viktor pulled off his skating sweater and used it to wipe at the boy’s lap, where the tea had spilled. “Is it better?” he asked, gripping the boy’s trembling hands, and staring up into the boy’s face.

“Um…” he stuttered. “I uh…” He pulled on his hat. For some reason, Viktor thought, Zamboni guys always wore hats.

 The previous guy had worn a Zamboni hat too, before he got arrested for dealing drugs behind the rink.

_Introduce yourself. Let him know who you are._ Chris’s word echoed in his head.

“You are the new Zamboni driver!” Viktor blurted. “I watch you!”

Oh no, what an embarrassment. Now the boy thought he was a stalker. Which Viktor was not. He just happened to occasionally stay late and get up early, and a couple of times, happened to glance the boy ducking in and out of the arena with the keys for the Zamboni dangling from his tiny beautiful fingers.

Viktor knew that the boy stayed at the rink even later than Viktor did most days, to clear the ice presumably after Viktor was done scraping it up and cleaning it with his ass as he fell over and over on the quad flip he was working on (without Yakov’s permission cough cough).

And Viktor passed by the rink in early mornings on his jogs, and saw the boy entering the arena. Oh, in the quiet morning light, how the dusty blue of the awakening sky and the gentle light fell on the beautiful figure, his strong yet shy shoulders, the shadows on the slope of his precious jawline…

“Er,” the boy stuttered and Viktor realized he had spaced out. "W-what? I--z-zamboni?" 

Viktor went back to dabbing at the wet mess on the boy’s lap. That sounded wrong, and the thought that popped into Viktor’s mind as he felt the boy’s strong thighs made Viktor’s pale skin tint a little pinker.

“I mean,” Viktor said, and cleared his throat. "You drive the Zamboni?"

"I-I-guess?" stuttered the boy, still looking traumatized.

Viktor wanted to reassure the boy. "I was so surprised!" He lifted his chin and smiled as beautifully as he could at the super wonderful boy. “You do not look very old! Not as old as the last one! Zamboni drivers are often very old. Or so it has been at this rink.  How did you get to driving the Zamboni for us?” He blinked and leaned in. “You are not from Russia, no? I want to hear your story!”

“S-story?” the boy leaned back, eyes widening. “I grew up in Hasetsu...I-uh--Japan! I mean, Hasetsu is a town in Japan,” the boy stuttered, in stumbling English. He touched the ends of his black hair nervously. “My f-friend’s family owned the rink and I...uhm, they paid me to do the ice.”

"I see!" Viktor chirped. "And now you have come to Russia!" 

"Y-yes." He took a deep breath, like he had never breathed before. “L-like in J-japan. N-nownowIdotheiceheretoo,” he finished, then shut his mouth in silence. “I guess,”was the quiet murmur afterward, and a tug on the hair and the hat. 

Viktor could only stare in amazement.

"That is why you come to the rink everyday," Viktor said, "to clear the ice, da?" Viktor smiled. 

"E-er," the boy stuttered. "I-iguess?" 

Viktor had wiped most of the spill up. He grabbed the boy's hands, and held them tightly. "Thank you," he said, as sincerely as he could. 

The boy ripped his hands away, and turned bright red. "E-eh...?" 

The small Japanese boy was practically burying his face in his scarf, and the more Viktor stared, the more the boy tried to nose his way into the cotton fabric. He looked like a little groundhog mosying into the dirt for hibernation, and it pulled the strings of Viktor’s heart like not a plucking of a violin, put Cupid reaching in and yanking out the strings till he was bare and bleeding.

So…

CUTE--

“VITYA,” came a terrifying yell as Viktor’s coach Yakov came growling up the stairs into the lobby area. “GET ON THE ICE NOW.”

Viktor had never been more pissed at his old coach. “See you later, Zamboni boy!” Viktor waved and ran away from his coach.

 

.

.

.

“Viktor,” said Georgi as they stood by the boards on the ice. Viktor was grabbing a sip from his water bottle and also taking a break from Yakov, who was intent on screaming about Viktor’s “lack of motivation” and “irresponsibility” and blah blah blah.

“Yeah?” Viktor lifted his leg onto the board with the ease of fifteen years of Bolshoi ballet training and dropped it on the board with a plunk. The blade made a dinging noise as it scared the plastic on the top of the board.

“VITYA STOP RUINING YOUR BLADES,” Yakov’s scream echoed all across the rink. Viktor huffed and bit his tongue to stop from yelling back at him.

“Stupid old man,” Viktor muttered in Russian and turned his head with a silver hair flip.

Georgi smirked, and sighed. “Oh my old friend Viktor, you never change,” he said very dramatically.

There was no one more dramatic than Georgi, thought Viktor, and that was impressive, given that Viktor was. Well. Viktor.

“There is a new boyyyy,” cooed Georgi, doing a pivot on the ice and spinning as he announced it. He stopped himself abruptly, facing Viktor, and extended his arm delicately. “I have heard...it is a hardworking, passionate youth from the faraway, distant country of Japan,” he announced. Then he swept his arms grandly, towards the ceiling.

“Oh,” Viktor said and blinked. “The new Zamboni driver, da?”

Georgi stared at him,  confused. “Pardon?”

“They fired the old one? You have heard this, we have all heard this!” Viktor said happily. “That old ugly one with the bald head that we always said was on drugs.” He drank from his water bottle and picked up his phone to check his Instagram. Chris still had not replied to him.

“Ah, of course, I have heard this!” Georgi began. “I have heard of the firing, but certainly not of a new Zamboni driver. The arrival I speak of, from Japan he comes for the skati--”

“So they hired a new Zamboni driver and it’s a cute one from Japan!” Viktor said happily, thoroughly not listening. “That is who you are speaking of, yes? He says he learned to do it in his town! We became friends today! I am sure we can introduce you, my friend Georgi, do not worry, he is a very wonderful Zamboni driver,” Viktor sang with a wink. “I wonder if he follows skating."

The soft sounds of violin filled the air.

“Oh,” Viktor said, and looked up at the ceiling. “My program is up,” he said, as his music filled the stadium.

“VITYA YOUR PROGRAM IS STARTING GET YOUR **** ON THE ICE YOU GODDAMN ****” Yakov’s shrieking was heard all through the ice arena.

.

.

.

_I’m not the new Zamboni Driver!!!!_ Yuuri barely managed not to hyperventilate as he took the ice in the Junior’s Session, and skated over to Coach Yakov.

“Do the warm-up drill,” Yakov said gruffly. “Three forward, three backward, two down the center. And add power pulls on the end,” he said, “Five minutes,” he said, “and faster than last time. And then five waltz jumps. Better be the biggest waltz jump I’ve ever seen. And don’t look down when you jump. Or skate. Don’t look down at all,” he growled. “Did you hear me? I want to see up your nostrils when you skate. And no slacking. I want you properly warmed up for jumps today.” He took a sip from his coffee.

Yakov always had coffee, even though there was a huge sign that said NO DRINKS in the arena.

“GO!” Yakov yelled. Yuuri jumped, and skated off as fast as he could.

As he skated around the rink, he felt like he was dying. Going over the Incident, he wanted to bury himself in the ice.

Yuuri couldn’t believe that he had lied to Viktor Nikiforov’s face. THE VIKTOR NIKIFOROV. Actually, he could. How could he not lie to Viktor! There was no way he could tell him the truth, that he had flown all the way out here because on some off chance Viktor’s own coach had offered Yuuri a chance to be coached by him, and Yuuri had to turn down Celestino--another famous coach, to come out here and train in RUSSIA.

What would he do if Viktor asked to see him skate? Yuuri would die. Yuuri was a loser and couldn’t skate worth anything and Viktor would never look at him again. Nono. It was better that Viktor did not know Yuuri was actually a figure skater. It was better if Viktor thought that Yuuri was an insignificant Zamboni driver, here in Russia only to clear the ice for Viktor’s beautiful skates to carve into.

That way, Viktor would forget about him, and Yuuri could continue to admire him from afar. 

“What are you thinking about?” Yakov snapped. “You are not paying attention! As bad as Vitya, you are.”

Yuuri winced, and winced again at the reminder of Viktor.

“And you need to stop doing the ice,” Yakov growled. “Don’t look at me like that! I know what you are up to!” he growled. “Who do they think you are, letting you drive the Zamboni all the time. They are treating you like free labor here!” he yelled.

“But I like to, I-I, “ Yuuri stuttered.

“You are a delinquent child!” Yakov yelled in Yuuri’s face. “This is ILLEGAL! You CANNOT DRIVE A ZAMBONI AT FIFTEEN YEARS OLD IN RUSSIA. You are still a BABY!”

Yuuri flinched. “Er…”

There was no way Yuuri could explain to Coach Yakov that not only was driving the Zamboni fun and stress-relieving, but he was terribly homesick and it reminded him of Yuuko, Yuuko’s family and _home_. He loved sitting on top of the Zamboni and directing the huge machine along the ice. He loved the way it left a trail of glittering fresh water to coat the scars on the ice. It felt like, after tearing himself open on the ripped- up ice, he was repairing not only his ego but the ice itself, resetting it for a new blank slate. And he remembered how Yuuko and he took turns clearing the ice, joking and playing around until Yuuko’s uncle came to scold them with a fond smile.

He loved doing the ice with the Zamboni, but also, he couldn’t explain to Yakov that now that he had lied and told Viktor that it was his job, he couldn’t exactly, you know, not show up for his job.

Yuuri had grown up in Hasetsu. His family did not have the sort of money to pay for his skating all over the rink, even if it was a rink where not many people went. That sort of ice time, plus coaching fees, plus buying skates all the time as he kept growing, as well as costumes and competitions and travel fees-it was all very expensive and added up quickly. So Yuuri was only ten when the man running the ice rink-Yuuko’s uncle-- told him that he could use the rink before and after hours for free, if he cleaned the ice afterward.

Anyway, this whole driving the Zamboni in Russia business-- well, it was actually an accident. Or, well, a coincidence. It all started because the day that Yuuri had arrived at the rink, the rink had apparently had to spontaneously fire their old Zamboni driver. Some bad news, or something. He couldn’t really understand the Russian.

So, Yuuri stumbled in English to volunteer his services, and although reluctant, the owner had pressed the keys into his hands, and sent a nervous but confident-in-his-Zamboni-skills Yuuri off to get the Zamboni on the ice. “Just for three days,” said the man, whose Russian name Yuuri couldn’t pronounce. By then, they would have a new Zamboni driver.

From then on, the old guy directing the rink seemed forever glad to see Yuuri. Granted, it had only been about a week since Yuuri arrived in Russia. But he gave Yuuri free water bottles and free Gatorades from the concession stands. He gifted Yuuri the so-called “Zamboni hat” which he claimed was part of the rite of passage for employees that drove the Zamboni.

“You can have the ice before and after opening times,” he had said. “If you Zamboni the ice when you’re done”—the same deal that Yuuko’s uncle in Hasetsu had given Yuuri. And as he pressed the keys to the ice arena into Yuuri’s hands, Yuuri almost cried with thankfulness, and homesickness for Hasetsu.

“You’re a good kid,” the man had said gruffly. “Yakov was right to get you out here in Russia.”

“KATSUKI!” Yakov’s yell nearly knocked Yuuri off his skates.

Yuuri had completely spaced out, feeling half thankful for the kindness of the owner of the rink, and half panicked about how he had just lied to Viktor, his idol. With an exhale, he skated over to Yakov and pulled up with a hockey stop at the last minute.

“What?” Yakov asked. He raised an eyebrow.

“Um,” Yuuri stuttered. He shuffled his skates on the ice, looked anywhere except Yakov, and then promptly his skates slipped out from under him and he fell on his tailbone on the ice. “KUSO!” he yelled.

The ice rink had been silent. The music was off, and the next skater in line was standing in the box holding the CD with his program on it. So Yuuri's Japanese curse word echoed all across the domed ceiling. Everyone turned to look.

Yuuri wanted to die.

“You are all an embarrassment,” Yakov covered his face. “You...Vitya...Yuri...and now _you_ Katsuki--good lord what have I done.” All of the other coaches were looking at Yakov as well, then turned away. Yuuri wanted to cry.

“I--”

“Axel!” Yakov yelled, and pointed at the ice. “NOW!”

“Uh, uh,” Yuuri looked confused. “Single?”

“NO, for god’s sake,” Yakov grumbled angrily in Russian, “Are you a beginner?”

“Yes?” Yuuri questioned.

“NO! You can land triples, you are a star,” Yakov yelled. “Triple axel, now! And you better act like you’re doing a Quad,” Yakov said.

Yuuri sighed, scrambled onto his blades, dusted off his behind, and pushed off.

 Well, he thought to himself, at least Viktor doesn’t know I am a skater. He thinks I am the Zamboni driver, and will probably never talk to me again.

The fact that Yuuri landed all of jumps clean that day—bar the quad slachow he just started working on—should have been an ominous sign.

Whenever good things happened for Yuuri, it meant bad things were on the horizon.

. . . 

Meanwhile, as Yuuri was skating on the Junior ice, the oblivious Viktor was doing off-ice training in the hallway, running up and down the stairs with Georgi. He sent a SUCCESS:MISSION ACCOMPLISHED text to Chris and almost fell up the stairs and ruined his face. 

 Next time, he vowed, he would get Zamboni Guy's name. And his number. 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Really didn't want to write this because I should be doing other things, but really DID want to write it, and had to get it out of my system before I die lol. Also writing about figure skating feels like stabbing myself in the gut because i used to skate and now i'm at college and i can't and GAWD me writing this is like masochistic or something. Miss it so much grrrr..  
> anyway this was originally supposed to be a oneshot but it got too long and too messy, so I cut it into parts, and there's much more to come. XD leave me a comment please! First time posting on here, don't really know what I'm doing, lets be friends children.


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